


The More Things Remain the Same

by Liquid_Lyrium



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Awkwardness, Bittersweet, Fluff, Friendship/Love, M/M, One Shot, Past Relationship(s), Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-05
Updated: 2011-11-05
Packaged: 2017-10-25 17:27:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/272886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liquid_Lyrium/pseuds/Liquid_Lyrium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinntus Hawke and Fenris have a routine, a rhythm. It's so much less and more than what they really want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The More Things Remain the Same

**Author's Note:**

  * For [autumnyte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumnyte/gifts).



> B-day present for the fantastic Autumnyte! Quinntus Hawke is my brainchild, but Autumn is his other mommy.
> 
> This takes place during the three year interim after ~the night~ together, perhaps year 1 or 2.

_“Hah!”_

Quinntus jumped and let his momentum carry him through the air, his weight and gravity bringing him down hard. His attack was to no avail, however, both knives blocked by a blade nearly as long as Quinntus was tall. Sparks flew as steel clashed together. Quinn felt the shock of it go right up to his shoulders. He grunted as he tried to push down against the sword, but in moments he was pushed back several feet, stumbling as he tried to remain standing.

“Sloppy footwork, Hawke,” Fenris drawled, returning to a defensive stance.

Quinntus just grinned, “You can only say that because it’s you. Anyone else would be on their ass right now. Or at least nursing a sore shoulder. All right, maybe not a kossith.” His heart quickened as he caught a tiny smile on the elf’s face.

“Talk is cheap, Hawke. Come at me again.” Fenris shifted his bare feet against the wooden floor, “Or are you surrendering?”

“Perish the thought,” Quinn said with a wild grin. The rogue surged forward on light feet, feinting to the left before landing a solid hit against the man’s breastplate to the right. Quinn received a backhanded blow weighted with an enormous hilt for his trouble. “So your defenses _aren’t_ impenetrable,” Hawke said with a little too much glee as he moved his jaw carefully from side-to-side.

“Stop playing around, you’re better than this,” Fenris’s voice betrayed a hint of frustration. “Or do I have to force you to take me seriously?”

“Just getting warmed up, my friend,” Hawke gave him a cheeky smile and rolled his shoulders. Quinn’s stomach jumped a little as Fenris softly ‘hmphed.’

Hawke pulled out a small little flash vial, and Fenris closed his eyes before it hit the floor. With remarkable alacrity and silence, Hawke traveled across the ballroom floor, and leapt at Fenris once more, frustrated—but not surprised—as the elf’s blade came up to block him again. _Dammit Hawke, he knows you go for that side, because **you** know that’s his weaker side._

They clashed blades back and forth across the ballroom floor, navigating around deep scores from previous bouts. The rogue felt breathless and giddy as he slid past Fenris, close enough to feel the heat from his body. Whenever Fenris backed him towards a wall, he felt a warm shiver move down his spine. He had to suppress old memories, had to focus on the _here_ and _now_ instead of _then._ At the last possible moment, Quinntus lifted both his blades in order to block a powerful strike—which neatly pulled him out of an intensely familiar memory. He put thoughts of Fenris shoving him against the wall in the back of his mind, and pressed forward with a renewed intensity that startled the elf, his expression openly surprised.

Hawke flipped backwards, putting more distance between him and Fenris. He ducked his head and charged forward, planning on another feinting maneuver. His eyes widened as the elf started to glow, swinging his blade back. Hawke heard the scrape and protest of wood as the tip of Fenris’s sword cleaved through it. The blade caught him directly on the shoulder as he ran directly into the blow. In the next instant, Hawke was flying through the air until he slammed against the wall.  He stayed there impacted for a brief moment before he pooled down onto the floor. Quinntus groaned loudly, his shoulder was on _fire_ , complete _agony._ Thank the Maker he’d been wearing armor, otherwise he might have lost that arm.

Fenris had already dropped his blade with a loud clatter,“ _Hawke!_ ” Quinntus looked up to see familiar leggings kneeling into view. With a cry and a grimace, he rolled over onto his back. “ _Quinntus!_ Speak to me, are you hurt? Is anything broken?” The Tevinter man let out an elaborate flurry of curses Hawke had never heard him use before. Hawke also noticed, through the pain, that the man’s face was drawn and worried.

Quinn took in a deep, hissing breath before talking through gritted teeth, “Shoulder—I think.. dislocated. Twice?” He wasn’t sure. He thought it had popped back into place briefly when he hit the wall, but he wasn’t certain. “Not broken,” he tried to assure Fenris, although his eyes were streaming as his arm started to burn in pain.

“ _Vishante!_ Hawke, what about your head? Keep breathing,” Fenris was unlatching the clasps on his armor, working on removing the pauldrons.

“My head’s fine… I think,” his voice held a definite tremor that he wished would go away. He was _not_ the best with pain. He whimpered pathetically when Fenris gently lifted him to move his armor out of the way and again when Fenris removed the bracers on his upper arm.  Quinn scrubbed at his streaming eyes before he passed a blade to the elf. “Here,” he choked out “slice open my shirt so we can put my arm right already.” The burning sensation around his shoulder was only getting more intense.

Fenris took the blade gingerly, “Hawke are you certain you wish me to destroy your—?”

“ _Fenris please! I’m dying here!_ ” Quinn interrupted in a shrill scream. His tone settled things and Fenris slashed the cloth open and pulled it back. The bone was visibly out of place. The elf grabbed Quinn’s arm carefully,

“All right, five, four, _three!_ ” Fenris pushed his arm back into place—and despite his slight yelp—the burning, excruciating pain stopped almost immediately. Quinn suddenly took in deep lungfuls of air.

“What,” he spoke between gasps “Whatever happened… t’two and one?”

Fenris worried his lower lip, his face still rather pale, “I thought it best not to give you a chance to anticipate too much.” Hawke moved to sit up, but a gauntlet on his chest stopped him. “Wait a few moments, does your head hurt? Can you see all right? What of your shoulder?”

Quinn brushed a few last tears out of his eyes and looked up, hrm. Things _were_ a little fuzzy. “The back of my head.. hurts,” he admitted. He blinked several times, “My sight’s clearing up… the shoulder.. much better, thank you.” Hawke heard Fenris digging for something in one of his pouches and he groaned, “No, Fenris, don’t make me drink—“

“Hawke,” the man’s tone was firm “it will ease the pain in your shoulder if nothing else.”

Quinntus pouted and turned his head away, “No.”

“ _Hawke!_ ” The slightly frantic edge to the man’s voice made Quinn turn to look. He felt his heart seize in his chest at the expression on the man’s face. From the guilt and worry written on his features, one might have thought Fenris had caused Hawke lasting, irreparable damage.

“I’ll drink the potion,” Quinntus said in a very subdued voice. Some of the worry seemed to clear up from the elf’s face. He opened a vial of elfroot poultice and Quinn shivered at the gentle touch of flesh, lyrium, and steel when Fenris carefully lifted his head. With a resigned sigh, he opened his mouth, and let his sparring partner tip a generous amount of the foul brew into his mouth. He choked it down, and screwed his mouth shut, just in case it decided to come back up. It didn’t. Fenris helped him sit up the rest of the way, and then the man stared at the floor between them, still looking shaken.

“Quinn, Hawke, I-I must apologize. That loss of control was inexcusable. You could have been seriously _harmed_. I understand if you wish to cease our practices,” white hair covered his eyes, and Quinn wanted to push it out of his face more than anything, or else place his hand on one of the gauntlets fisted over the elf’s knees.

“I’m fine Fenris. You’ve knocked me around before. I’ve given you a few nasty blows too, I’ll have you remember. These things sometimes happen,” he kept his voice calm and patient.

Fenris shook his head, “Yes, but I am made of sterner stuff than you.” He grimaced, “That is not what I meant to say.”

Quinn opted to find the humor in that remark, “’Sterner stuff?’ _You?_ Look at you!” He reached over and prodded the man in the chest, under the shoulder, just above the edge of his breastplate. “There’s no padding on you!” He grinned in the face of the elf’s scowl.

“That is _not_ what I meant,” Fenris’s expression had changed to a badly disguised grimace of frustration. “I.. you.. You cannot cause the same amount of damage that I am capable of,” he tried again.

Quinntus waved a hand, “It wasn’t anything serious. I know you’d never _really_ hurt me.”

An uncomfortable silence fell between them, at that. Hawke didn’t need to look at Fenris to know that the elf was also trying to avoid his gaze. He wondered, briefly, if _this_ was the moment to bring it up, to talk about that night they’d shared together, but his courage failed him.

Quinntus cleared his throat and spoke again, as if they hadn’t just had a significant, rather pregnant pause in conversation, “There’s no reason to stop is what I’m saying.” He glanced at Fenris, who had his arms crossed across his chest.

More silence followed, but it wasn't as painful or awkward this time.

Hawke made another attempt, “You’re coming over for reading lessons anyway. Might as well get some exercise too. I have to do _something_ to keep myself looking fit and trim with Bodahn and Orana around.”

A short breath escaped Fenris in something that was suspiciously like a snort of laughter. Quinn smiled, feeling a bit relieved. “So.. I’ll see you again tomorrow?”

Fenris pushed himself up to his feet, “I suspect you shall.” He paused, eyes resting guiltily on the gash he’d left in the floor—the deepest one yet. “I am deeply sorry about what happened,” Quinn felt his heart tremble as Fenris hit him full blast with those puppy-dog eyes.

“I know,” Quinntus whispered “and it’s _fine_. Really. I probably won’t even have any bruising thanks to the potion you made me drink.”

Fenris pursed his lips contemplating Hawke with a different sort of look, “If you feel any discomfort, we should not spar tomorrow.”

Quinn smiled, not bothering to push the flap of his tunic back up, “Let me walk you to the door. Unless you’d prefer to stay?”

The elf shook his head quickly, “No thank you, Hawke. I feel we are done for the day. You need rest.”

Quinntus smiled softly, and on the way out, Fenris gave Bodahn stern, yet apologetic, instructions to take care of Hawke for the evening. Something halfway between a request and an order, but it hardly mattered as Bodahn quickly became concerned about Hawke’s injuries. “Fenris, wait!” Quinntus cried out, before his valet ushered him upstairs.

The elf paused and turned to look at him from the foyer, a brow arched, “Yes, Hawke?”

Quinntus felt like an idiot the moment he said the words, “You didn’t say good night.” Fenris stared at him, and blinked once or twice before he chuckled softly, warm and breathy. Quinn curled his toes inside his boots as a flush scrawled up his neck.

Fenris’s voice still contained a bit of laughter as he said, “Good night, Hawke.”

Quinntus felt an imbecilic smile creep over his face, and his heart seemed ridiculously light in his chest. He was rooted to the spot until Fenris left his home, closing the door behind him with one last look.

Hawke let out a long, wistful, dreamy sort of sigh and allowed himself to be directed upstairs, and allowed Bodahn and Orana to dote and fuss over him a great deal more than he ordinarily would.

When he was alone approaching the borders of the Fade, Ser Rascal loyally curled up in front of the fireplace, and the lamps extinguished, Quinn hugged one of his extra pillows to his face and spoke into it.

“See you tomorrow, Fenris.”


End file.
